


through loyalty do flags fly

by louiseparker



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fluff, Lots of Angst, M/M, Pining, Prince Yuri, Royalty AU, Sexual Tension, Smut, and prince viktor, what more could you possibly want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-12-27 08:25:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12077322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louiseparker/pseuds/louiseparker
Summary: A Yuri! on Ice Royalty AU where the Nikiforov and Katsuki families have always been in conflict, and in order to clear up the bad blood, they decide to marry Yuri and The Nikiforov's daughter, Alina. When he arrives in Russia, he ends up falling head over heels - for the wrong Nikiforov.





	1. Chapter 1

"Have a drink, son. This is cause for celebration."

Yuri sinks deeper into his seat, wishing he'd disappear into the leather somehow. The window to his right gave him a clear, beautiful view – one of the only home he'd ever known fading beyond thick groups of cotton clouds.

"Yes father, I'm celebrating." Yuri drones, keeping eyes glued to the window. "Can't you tell? I can _hardly_ _contain_ my excitement."

Toshiya heaves a sigh, one so long and dramatic that nearly makes Yuri laugh out loud. Why is he sighing? Yuri should be the only one letting out any kind of sigh, perhaps the longest sigh in the _history_ of sighing.

"An attitude like that will get us nowhere, Yuri."

There were words of rebuttal on the tip of Yuri's tongue, something along the lines of, _"What is this ' **us** ,' business? I'm the one receiving the tail-end of this deal, you selfish, horribl-"_

But upon second thought, he swallows the retort bitterly and keeps his focus to the window. Pretty, fluffy clouds. He just had to keep looking at the _pretty, fluffy clouds._ The view, although a wonderful distraction, made him feel small. It reminded Yuri that there were still so many beautiful things left to be seen in this world. So much he hadn't experienced.

Toshiya signals for the air hostess to bring him a fourth glass of champagne, and he sips lightly, casually. Everything about the scene almost felt normal, his mother napping in the luxury seat across from him. His sister sits in solitude a few rows ahead, reading some trashy gossip magazine that his family makes appearances in at least four times a month. Taking the family's private plane for quick trip around the world was nothing Yuri was a stranger to.

Now that he put thought to it, his entire childhood was most likely spent in the lounge of a plane, jetting off to some wedding for a cousin he'd never met, or a vacation to somewhere tropical and exotic. The older he got, the weddings and vacations began turning into ribbon cutting ceremonies, council meetings, and other mind-numbing political events.

Today, the trip they were taking was infinitely worse than any four-hour meeting Yuri could sit through. It seemed less like traveling to meet his new fiancé, and more like flying towards his impending doom.

The relaxed atmosphere around him – his mother's hushed snoring, his father's careful sipping, the gentle page turn of his sister's magazine – it was a cacophony of chaos that made Yuri's insides bubble with a quiet fury, as if he wasn't about to give his entire life away for a cause that he didn't volunteer for.

Yuri is quite certain his brain is going to implode when another steward comes by the row of seats and bows deeply.

"We're beginning our final descent, Mr. Katsuki. If you could please fasten your seatbelts." Toshiya waves him off with a tight-lipped smile, and returns to his drink.

"Father," Yuri sits up, his tone desperate in a way he can't contain. His heartbeat jackrabbiting in his chest, threatening to jump right out of his body. This was it, his final chance to reverse this mistake. "I've never asked you for anything, please, all I'm asking is that you reconsider what you've done-"

This earns a snort from Toshiya. "You've never had to ask for anything in this lifetime because I've given you all you've ever wanted. I've worked for you and your sister to have everything."

Yuri's mother stirs awake, sitting upright. "What's happening?"

An eye roll from his father. "Our son is asking, once again, that we not go through with this."

The expression on his mother's face puts a twinge of hope in Yuri's gut.

Many sleepless nights have come and gone for Yuri in the past weeks, and many nights has his mother discovered him in the kitchen clutching a cup of tea in shaking hands in an attempt to quiet the churning in his stomach. She held Yuri as he cried the night his father sprung the news upon him, and brushed a hand through his hair to soothe him. It was a treatment he hadn't received since he was little, but Hiroko knew the situation called for a mother's hand.

The imploring in his eyes, Yuri knew she felt it. He feels the familiar tears spring to his eyes, the burning in his throat, but he blinks hard and forces them back. He won't cry in front of his father, not after everything. He's taken the most he can from Yuri, but he won't have his dignity.

"We've been through this, I thought you understood." Hiroko says, averting her eyes to the window. It seems the clouds are a distraction for her, as well. "It is a  _sacrifice_ , and we've made it in order to make a very powerful ally-"

" _We_ are not doing anything," Yuri says through gritted teeth, but he wishes he could scream. Scream, and kick, and throw a tantrum that a two-year old would be ashamed to witness. "Don’t pretend like this will affect you at all. This is selfish, and you know it."

"You think I want to give my only son away? Do you believe it brings me joy to ship him off to a foreign country, to marry a stranger? You must stop painting me as a villain, Yuri. There isn't another way."

"But there has to be, Father! You know the council could devise another plan, a different way to show our-"

"Loyalty?"

Yuri nods.

"There are people suffering, Yuri. Real suffering, not this insubordinate _pouting_ you insist on parading for everyone to see. This ally will give us a way to help our people. I don’t like to ask for help, but in these times, it is a necessity. That seems to be clear to everyone but you."

"Father, please."

"I've heard she is a lovely girl," Hiroko provides weakly, smiling a smile that Yuri wishes would put his nerves at ease like it normally does. It doesn't.

"It wouldn't matter if the woman was a troll the size of a building, this is the decision Father has made for the _good_ of our country," Yuri spits.

"There is to be no further discussion on the subject." Toshiya commands, with an edge to his voice that lets Yuri know he's not to be pushed.

"Only through loyalty do flags fly, Yuri."

"Ours must fly the highest."

~

The violent turbulence they experience on the descent to Russia seems like foreshadowing for the days to come, Yuri can't help but think. Almost like the universe was sending the entire Katsuki clan a large, neon sign, one that read:

_THIS IS A ROCKY ROAD. TURN BACK WHILE YOU CAN._

Although big and bright, Yuri is the only one to notice it.

Nine hours were spent on the journey from Japan to Russia, and Yuri was positive his butt was going to have a feeling of numbness for the rest of his life. The view out the window of the sleek black town car wasn't nearly as nice as the one the plane offered, but he was grateful to be out of the turbulence.

Much to his delight, there are two cars lying in wait to pick them up, and Yuri insists on having one completely to himself, for the sake of his sanity. Being in close quarters with his father again may shred the very thin line of resistance he had to saying things he shouldn't regarding the situation.

Thankfully, his mother comes to his rescue and agrees that he should have a moment to "gather his thoughts," before meeting his soon-to-be new family. He could have done without the latter part of the explanation, but was grateful nonetheless when his father nods his head silently and ducks into one of the cars alone.

The Russian countryside was more beautiful than Yuri cared to admit to himself. The rolling hills that seem to stretch for miles, stacked impossibly upon one another just to provide more sense of endlessness. He attempts to make small talk with his driver, to be polite, but quickly realizes by the panicked look on his face that he doesn't speak more English than "Yes sir," and "No sir." This is more than fine by Yuri, who isn't in the mood for a chat anyhow.

He wonders briefly if this was how things were going to be between he and his new bride, silent and awkward as they first figured out how to be around each other.

 _Alina_. Yuri needed to correct to himself. Her name was _Alina_. It was probably best that he started acknowledging her by her name, and not the visual of a little cartoon devil he'd been illustrating in his mind for the past few months. _Alina, Alina, Alina._ The name sounded sweet, pretty, even. He hopes that the reality is a match.

All too soon, the car comes to a stop, and Yuri feels his heart give one last lurch as the sight of the Nikiforov's summer home slides into view.

Or what view he manages to get of it – peeking out the window over tall, green hedges that surround the mansion's walls.

Yuri's knees bounce with anxiety. It seems like hours that the driver takes to come open his door and let him out into his new world, and when he does, Yuri feels the awe spread on his face.

Marble makes up the palace's walls, and it is so incredibly white that it's almost hard for Yuri to look at directly, but he doesn't stop. The crimson of the Nikiforov banners are a stark but stunning contrast, swaying gently in the sweet summer breeze.

A set of alabaster stairs leads up to a pair of enormous twin doors, ones that are trimmed in gold and look far too heavy for any person to open. They’re impractical, Yuri thinks. A little too gaudy for his taste, but he can appreciate the beauty in the architecture.

Four uniformed guardsmen stand on either side of the doors, clothed in the same crimson as the banners. Stoic looking, and proud, and Yuri wishes he didn’t feel so incredibly intimidated. And that his hands would stop shaking.

It’s at that moment that Yuri realizes how awkward he must look, standing there all by himself. Waiting for his daddy’s car to pull up after him like a child waiting for someone to pick him up from a playdate. He can’t help the paranoia that creeps in, telling him that the entirety of the Nikiforov family are watching from some window, laughing at his ridiculousness. Yuri contemplates getting back into the car, but how strange would that look to the guardsmen who already saw the driver let him out? They might start laughing at him too, and Yuri wouldn’t blame them. The idiotic simplicity of the moment really made Yuri want to fling himself into the sun.

Unfortunately, before Yuri can find himself a slingshot to do so, his father’s far crunches onto the gravel, and he sighs. Getting out of the car. He’s just had an existential crisis over _getting out of the car._ He’s almost forgotten about his poor driver, who is standing with Yuri’s bags in hands, awaiting a command. Yuri shoots him a contrite look, and strides over to where is father is being let out.

There’s a smirk on Toshiya's face when Yuri finally reaches him, a playfulness that Yuri wants to stomp on like a bug.

“How long have you been standing there, my son?”

“What took you so long?”

"There were bags to be loaded, which you would have noticed; had you taken a moment to pay attention to your surroundings," Toshiya shakes his head and extends a hand to help his wife from her seat. "I certainly didn't expect to see you standing here like a statue,"

"I don’t want to talk about this anymore," Yuri grumbles, his father trailing behind him in a fit of giggles.

Yuri hopes his face isn't too red.

~

There's an unpleasant familiarity in the moment of panic that pumps through Yuri's chest when the help opens the two grand doors and ushers his family in. He counts his breaths, thinking of anything he can that will lower his heartrate.

Three chambermaids crowd like birds to relieve the Katsuki's of their outerwear, and Yuri feels robotic as he shrugs his coat from his arms. He only catches bits of what the maid is saying as she leads them through a series of hallways, something about taking tea in a garden, where their royal highnesses wait.

He barely feels his mother's reassuring squeeze upon his shoulder, telling him to keep moving, to keep pushing. It’s only when Yuri feels the warmth of sunlight pour onto his skin do his senses return to him, his gaze finding a plush garden. The steward beside them begins announcing at such a volume that Yuri is sure he's lost hearing in one ear.

"Your Majesty, I do present His Imperial Majesty Emperor of Japan, Toshiya Katsuki, Her Imperial Highness, Empress Hiroko Katsuki, and their children, Crowned Prince Yuri Katsuki, and the Princess Mari Katsuki."

"Honored guests," The slender, silver-haired man before them bows, bringing the rest of his family to bow with him. As he rises, Yuri is surprised to see the grin that threatens to split his face in two. Beside him stands what Yuri assumes to be his wife and daughter, with quieter smiles, but genuine nonetheless.

A fleeting moment of eye contact is shared between Yuri and his new bride, and he tries his hardest not to let the blush take over his entire face. He knows he fails.

"Welcome," The man claps his hands together in glee, "You may call me Aleksandr, and please, enough with the formalities," He shoots a glance to the stewards, who bow out and excuse themselves. "My wife, Irina, and my daughter, Alina," He smiles brilliantly as he presents each of the ladies, very obviously proud.

"We understand must be weary from your travels, please, come join us for refreshments."

Alina's place is across from Yuri's, her pretty platinum hair hanging in tendrils around her face. Their parents drone on about some foreign policy that's bothered them recently, and she looks just as bored as he is. Yuri is quite surprised when she clears her throat and looks up at him from under long lashes.

"It was a very long trip, right?" She has a sweet, high voice – and while her accent is thick, her English is clear. Yuri feels his spirits lighten, and he smiles.

"Yes, very long."

"I know this is very boring," She whispers, leaning forward a bit. "I'm sure it will be over in a little while,"

Yuri raises his shoulders up, and then drops them with a little puff of breath. "I wouldn't be surprised if they kept us here for another six hours, after planning the middle names of our sixth and seventh children."

A small giggle escapes her lips, and Yuri lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Their first conversation, and it wasn't a crash-and-burn.

Things just might be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Alina seize a moment to get to know one another, and Yuri finds out things will not go exactly as he planned.

It feels like hours of vomit-inducing table talk that Yuri has to endure before Aleksandr insists that his guests "freshen up before dinner." 

He effectively blocks out a majority of the conversation, zoning in at  _just_ the right moments to answer a question that was directed at him. It would seem to most that it was luck, but Yuri had long ago mastered the art of selective listening. 

Now another member of the staff is leading him through the halls of the palace, which all seems like an intricate maze to Yuri. He's still feeling a bit out of it, rubbing his palms to try and regain some feeling in them. He should be paying extra attention, taking mental pictures of each turn so he isn't  _too_ helplessly lost when the time comes for him to find his way on his own. 

Before he can think more of it he finds himself in an empty bedroom, truly alone for the first time in twelve hours.  

 _Alone._ Yuri had forgotten how delicious it felt, to be  _alone._

The posture he's been carrying all day slides, the weight jumping off his shoulders. 

What Yuri plans to do was to take a shower, change into a fresh set of clothes, and maybe catch up on some emails. He knew there was probably a thousand of them, sitting in his inbox begging for attention. 

Instead, he finds himself planted  _face-first i_ n the plush of his bed's duvet, and he can't even imagine moving. Ever again. For the rest of his life. He wants to unscrew his head from his neck, and collapse into a puddle of nothingness. He kicks off his shoes one by one, not caring if he scuffs the leather on the heels.

"Oh my  _god,"_ He grumbles, squishing his face further. Who invented pillows? They should be rewarded with the highest honor, in Yuri's opinion. The birth of his  _firstborn child_  couldn't even top the moment he was having with this bed. 

All he wants to do is sleep, but there was still dinner to be had, which meant another two hours of socialization at the very least. Two hours with a normal diplomat would be fine by Yuri, but the Nikiforovs – they were just so inquisitive. He remembers Aleksandr's questions from tea this afternoon. 

What activities did he find himself interested in lately? Did he consider himself athletic? What was his strongest subject in school?  _What were his feelings toward the overall environmental health of his homeland?_

Excellent. Not too heavy for tea conversation.

Yuri rolls onto his back. Naturally, there's a mural on the ceiling. One of a densely navy sky, dusted with stars and – ah, clouds. It's gorgeous, and like everything in this palace so far – too much for Yuri's taste. 

Since he was a young boy, simpler things drew his attention more than anything that glittered or shined. This mindset probably derived from living in Kōdai his whole life. Watching his father rule over kind, fair people who never desired much more than a plentiful harvest of crops. He spent years learning their ways, in preparation for the day that  _he_ would rule over them. It was a shame to think it was a day that wouldn't come. 

Their highest sense of riches came from the crops, and the silk weavers. The silk weavers of Kōdai were the finest in Japan, and Yuri always secretly admired them. He found their work incredible, creating something beautiful out of nothing. Their entire lives were spent perfecting their craft, and Yuri had all he'd ever wanted from the moment he was born.

He grew up having more than he'd ever need – but the palaces at home were nothing like the one he found himself in now. Beautiful of course, in their own right, but not extravagant. Yuri feels like he could live in this palace for his whole life, and still not see everything. For example, he discovered that the location in which tea was taken earlier that day was the  _north_ garden. Which, according to the very informative maid who wouldn't stop talking on the way to Yuri's room, was part of four other gardens on the grounds, respectively named for their directions from the sun. The location of tea was dependent on what time of day it was, so they could plan accordingly for the sun's location.

And this was only their  _summer_ home. The Nikiforov's only spent a few months out of the year here. The thought is appalling to Yuri.

It's things like the  _mural in the ceiling_ that put Yuri back into perspective. The clouds were pretty, though. Just like the ones from his view this morning. Faint, feathery clouds. He was beginning to find a real sense of comfort in them. 

If he let his eyes drop their focus, it looks like they might be moving. Grazing the edge of a night sky on his bedroom ceiling.

It's a wonder he's stayed awake this long, truly. He tries to fight it when he eyelids become heavier and heavier, willing him to give in. Maybe a quick, ten-minute nap would help him recharge. Yuri consults his watch. Twenty past five. With dinner at 7:00, he's got plenty of time. A quick nap, a shower, change of clothes. Nap, shower, change.

_Pretty, pretty clouds._

~ 

The next time Yuri finds the clouds on his ceiling, there's an embarrassing amount of drool on his pillow – and an incessant knocking at the door. 

He thinks at first that he must be dreaming, groggily sitting up and squinting at the light. Too much light. 

_O_ _h, no._

Scrambling from bed, Yuri pulls the door open. A wide-eyed maid stands, fist raised for her next knock. Yuri's certain he must look absolutely crazy, his hair disheveled and suit wrinkled. Truly, a picture of a hot mess. 

"Hello," is all he can manage.

The maid curtsies, avoiding his eyes. "Dinner is ready in the main hall, Your Highness." 

"Yes," Yuri nods. He glances down at his watch. 7:24. "Yes, it  _is_. Thank you." The maid curtsies once more before heading down the hall, and it's all Yuri can do not to scream.

He rushes to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, but his reflection stops him short. What's the point? He looks like a monster creature from a children's book. Jet black hair stands up in all different directions, and horrid under-eye bags that make him want to hide forever. 

Panic pokes at him. He doesn't want the Nikiforovs to think he's disrespecting them, showing up late to their first dinner. This was not his normal behavior. Thankfully, he knows for a fact his father and mother wouldn't  _dream_ of being tardy, and were probably coming up with a reasonable excuse for him at this moment. He breathes a little easier realizing this.

Toshiya was  _also_ probably wishing Yuri was a little more similar to Mari. Yuri's sister has always been much better at being the perfect political child, ever since they were young. Always poised and charming to everyone she came in contact with. She could speak well in front of large crowds of people, (something Yuri had always been  _so_  jealous of, he was a terrible stage fright,) and find peace in chaotic situations. There was little she couldn't handle.

And much to Yuri's distaste, there probably wasn't a single bad photo of her on the Internet, because she was always ready for watching eyes. Always prepared. It was incredibly unfair! Yuri wasn't as fortunate. 

Shaking his thoughts, he got back to the task at hand. Get to dinner. In one piece, preferably. Of course, his suitcase and garment bags lay unpacked in the corner of the room, taunting him. It would be impossible to find anything in a reasonable amount of time with it all packed away. 

Cutting his losses, he pushes the tufts of hair down with his fingers as best he can. 

Long, similar looking hallways were a staple in this palace, Yuri realizes. He's striding down one of them, searching for something familiar to get him to dinner. Though he makes a mental note of his surroundings, marking that his door is the third on the left of this hallway.  _Third door on the left. Third door on the left._ He stores this for later.

It's practically a gift from the heavens when a member of the staff happens to be rounding the corner, and points Yuri in the right direction. 

When he pushes through the double doors into the dining room, his eyes find Alina's first. Her shoulders slump with relief. 

"Yuri!" Aleksandr rises from his seat, giddy. It's curious to how someone can be so happy all the time, it sets him on edge. 

Yuri opens his mouth to say how  _so,_ _extremely_ sorry he is, but Aleksandr claps him on the back before he can. 

"Your father was just telling me how you never stop working for your country, it's inspiring!" 

He guides Yuri to sit in the only empty chair, once again across from Alina. She's changed her outfit, now in a vivid, forest green ensemble that makes the cerulean hue in her eyes pop. Her full lips curl into a smile that makes Yuri think she knows a secret that he doesn't.

Beautiful, Yuri thinks to himself. Stunning in a way that almost seems impossible, like she shouldn't be real. He's extremely lucky, all things considering. 

A wicked blush sets his face aflame when Alina nudges her foot slightly against his, and he doesn't know how to handle it. The blushing, or her foot, or anything.

He just does something stupid with his mouth that he  _hopes_ looks like a smile and prays it all ends soon. 

"Everything is taken care of, Yuri?"

It takes him by surprise when his father speaks in Japanese across the table, wondering if it's considered rude. Not that Aleksandr notices, he's already in some deeply riveting conversation between Hiroko and Irina, all laughing happily. 

"Yes, Father," Yuri replies in the same tongue, nodding tightly.

"Do not repeat this mistake again," Toshiya says, returning to conversation. He chuckles right along with something Aleksandr has said, as if he were paying attention. Yuri wants to kick him.

"Yes, Father." He mutters, poking at his plate. 

They get through a whole main course and half of desert before the conversation comes Yuri's way again.

"Yuri, after your father leaves tomorrow, I will take you on a tour of the grounds - show you where the action happens. You will love it here."

The grip he has on his fork hardens. "After my Father leaves  _tomorrow_?" He throws a sideways glance to Toshiya. 

"Yes," For the first time since Yuri met him, Aleksandr's smile fades. "I do not understand,"

There's the quickest moment of silence before  _Yuri_ understands. He looks between his father, his mother, and his sister who all look guilty as murderers.

"I'm staying here." Yuri announces flatly. 

"…Yes," Aleksandr repeats slowly. 

_Crickets_ _. Heavy, interminable silence._

_"_ _I,"_ Yuri says, again, "Am staying  _here_ _._ Permanently. _"_

This time Aleksandr doesn't answer. He realizes that the question is no longer directed at him. Yuri's head might explode from the tension that's quickly building in his brain. The fork in his hand is bending slightly, or maybe that's just his imagination. He's burning a hole into the side of his father's head with his glare.

"There are many foreign affairs to be tended to, we will be traveling for the next few months. It is wiser for you to remain here." Toshiya says simply, never looking up once from his meal.

Steam must be coming from Yuri's ears at this point. 

Somehow, he knew this was going to happen. Perhaps not this exact situation, but he knew this couldn't possibly go his way. 

The way his Father had painted the picture for him, the Katsuki's would go to visit and  _meet_ with the Nikiforov's to bring Alina back to  _Japan._

The look on Aleksandr's face is telling Yuri that was never the plan. 

"I apologize if this had not been discussed between you and your family, Toshiya," Aleksandr says cautiously. "I believe this had always been the arrangement."

Yuri doesn't hear what his father has to say to that, he's too busy pushing back his chair. 

"You'll have to excuse me," He says, robotic.

And then he's walking away.

He might hear someone calling his name, but he doesn't care. 

Yuri strides confidently away from the dining room – as if he knows exactly where he's going. 

(He doesn't.)

A hand on his arm stops him, and he's prepared to whirl around and give his father a piece of his mind - 

But it's Alina's hand, and Alina's striking blue eyes that are staring him down. She looks surprised at what is obviously fury in his eyes, and he dials is back.

It's hard – Yuri is not an angry person. He never was. Even as a boy he would have rather taken the blame for something and avoided getting angry and arguing. It was just in his nature, and he prided himself on it.

Lately all he feels is anger. Quiet, bubbling anger that sits in his belly and turns his insides black. He hates that he never feels at peace anymore. 

Yuri draws a deep breath, and bows to her. "I apologize if leaving was rude, I just needed a moment for myself."

Alina shakes her head. "This news has caught you off guard, there is no need for apologies."

Yuri smiles weakly, but he's not sure what to do after that. She looks just as nervous as he is.

"Would you like to go somewhere with me? I will show you something."

"Oh," Yuri's eyebrows jump. "Won't we need a chaperone this far in the evening?"

A playfulness dances in Alina's eyes like fire. "I will not tell, if you do not."

Truly, Yuri is beginning to think he might follow her anywhere.

~

Alina leads them outside, past where they'd had tea earlier that day; it seems like a million years ago.

They walk side by side in silence, their fingers brushing occasionally. Even though Yuri knows it probably an accident, it still sends a buzz up the back of his neck.

It's a cloudless night, so the nearly full moon shines overhead brilliantly. Alina's milky white hair is loose, hanging in waves over her shoulder. Yuri doesn't know why he's staring. 

"I am taking you to the  _sumerechnyy_ _sad,"_  She announces after a few minutes of walking. "The Twilight Garden. We have many gardens here at the summer palace, but this one is my favorite. I spend many days here when I am child."

Yuri just smiles. They keep walking. 

"You are unhappy?" 

"What?" 

Alina flushes. "I do not want to speak out of line, but you do seem unhappy. I am sorry if our engagement has displeased you."

"No, no," Yuri stops in his tracks, and Alina does too. His heart drops low in his chest. "You do not displease me, not at all. I do not want you to believe that."

She frowns. "Then what makes you so unhappy?"

"I... I don't know," He's dumbfounded. It's the first time anyone's asked. There's got to be a reasonable answer, it can't just be because he hates the way his father's taken control of his life. That makes him seem like a petulant child.

"I suppose," Yuri begins, "It's because I grew up believing I would be able to marry for  _love_. Things are different from the ancient times. My parents were able to, and I thought I would too."

"Oh," Alina's face falls, and Yuri is stumbling for the right thing to say. 

"W-which isn't to say that I couldn't love you. I could possibly love you," 

_'I could possibly love you?'_ **_What?_ **

Yuri suppresses the urge to groan. He doesn't know what he's saying. He rubs at his forehead. 

"I understand," Alina replies. "I too, thought this."

"That is a relief," Yuri laughs lightly. "I needed more time to process than I was given, is all." 

Alina nods.

They continue walking.

For a while, the only sound between the two is Alina's heels clicking softly on the concrete, but it's content. Yuri feels content. 

They finally arrive to what Yuri assumes is the entrance to the garden. A rounded wooden door, surrounded by tall green hedges. Alina looks giddy.

"I do not have many reasons to come here anymore," She says, pushing it open. "It is very special to me."

Yuri feels breathless.

It's so green, even in the moonlight Yuri can see its vibrancy. Alina practically skips over the moss-covered stairs, and Yuri is slow to follow. 

 There are stone paths at the top, splitting off in three different directions. The left and right paths lead further in the garden, but the center path guides right toward a lit, bubbling fountain. 

Alina takes a seat on a bench adjacent, beaming. She pats the space next to her for Yuri to take. 

Once he's sitting, Alina is talking a mile a minute. Yuri thinks it's endearing how her words begin to blur together.

"As a child, I would come to this place to read. All by myself, it would make me feel very grown up. I sit, and read, and look at the stars in the nighttime. It is so beautiful in the nighttime."

Yuri's quite surprised at the twinge of jealousy that springs through him. The way Alina speaks of this place, it must have been so wonderful to have a place to call her own. To be so free, without watchful eyes. Chiding himself for being so peevish, he dismisses the thought.

"It is so special to me, but my father thinks the sun never quite reaches it, so he does not take tea here. But this is another reason why I enjoy it so much, because even at high noon it is shaded. We will have to come back another day, so you can see."

Alina is wonderful company, Yuri comes to find out. She finds the joy in most everything. He thinks it's because she's a natural-born  _lover._ Someone who is just  _made_ to love things, all things. Anything fromreading, to painting, to poetry. She's fluent in four languages, (French is her favorite,) and loves to study history of the world. And not at all to Yuri's surprise, she's also a trained ballerina.

"I wish I could do it all day," She tells him bashfully. "If I could do something all day, I would dance." 

Yuri could listen to her talk for hours, and he's pretty sure he does. He's not keeping track. They talk in the Twilight Garden until Alina's heels are forgotten somewhere in the grass and she's yawning halfway through her sentences. 

As the exit the garden to return to the palace, Yuri finds himself wishing that it didn't have to end; but quickly realizes that it  _doesn't._ He glances over at Alina and when she smiles at him, he knows he was right earlier.

It is entirely possible he will love Alina Nikiforov.

~

Yuri feels dizzy with sleep as he's walking back to his room. 

Luckily, he knows where that is, since Alina mentions that there's only one possible hallway he could be in. She says the entire west wing of the palace is for the help, and guests.

Yuri is not a guest.

Remembering from earlier, he finds his third door on the left and steps inside. The door creaks noisily when it opens, and he doesn't want to disturb anyone. He turns to shut it carefully, quietly.

When the door is closed, he lets himself breathe again. He rests his forehead on the cool of the wood, and takes a moment for himself. There's a brief moment where he lets himself think about how awful today was, but he refuses to give into any pity parties. All ended well, considering. 

It seems like his luck might actually be turning around, until he turns to go to bed, and there's  ** _someone already there._**

"Hello there," The man says. Yuri nearly wets himself.

" _OH_ ," Yuri backs into the door, fumbling for the handle. 

NO, NO,  _NO, NO,_ ** _NO, NO._**

 " _I am so, so, sorry. I - I_ _thought this was my room, and I just barged right in, please forgive me,"_

"That's okay, honest mistake," The man smiles, and shuts the book he's reading. The man leads against the headboard, shirtless. Yuri can't feel his hands.

" _I will just see myself out;_ _I am so,_ ** _SO_** _sorry for disturbing you, have – have a good night."_

Exiting as quickly as humanly possible, Yuri stands in the hallway, trying not to hyperventilate. He's more than a little dumbfounded. That was such a typical,  _typical_  thing of him to do, how he could he have made that mistake?

He recounts the doors, making certain he'd gone to the third on the - 

_R_ _ight. He'd gone into the third door on the right,_ _when his room was the third door on the_ **_left_ ** _. Across the corridor_ _._

Yuri sheepishly crosses the hallway and knocks on the door. 

He waits for a few moments and when there's no response, he enters, heaving a sigh of relief as he spots his bags in the corner of the room.

It's work to drag himself through the motions of a shower; all he can manage is to let the hot water pour over him. 

He doesn’t remember getting into bed. He remembers the clouds on his ceiling, and then, 

Nothing.

~

Breakfast the next morning is tight with tension.

Everyone gathers in the dining hall silently, sipping morning tea as if it's the most compelling activity in the world.

Alina is back to her usual timidity, but she shares a sly smile with Yuri as he walks in, and it warms his heart. 

They wait upon Aleksandr and Toshyia, who according to Yuri's mother, have been in a meeting all morning. Truthfully, it puts him more on edge, but why should it? He already knows his fate in regard to the situation.

Today is a new day, though. 

To Yuri, this means a new start.

He hears the men coming down the hallway before he sees them. Toshiya's fake, booming laugh makes Yuri roll his eyes, and he gets back to his tea.

"Yuri, if you have no business today, there is more on the grounds I would like to show you," Alina says.

"That would be lovely, Alina." It's the first time he's said her name aloud. He quite likes the way it rolls off his tongue.

Toshiya and Aleksandr walk through the door then, still carrying on from whatever conversation they were having. Yuri thinks it's rude. 

That's when he sees  _him._

 _He_ strides in after Yuri's father, hardly noticing anyone else. He certainly doesn't notice Yuri, thank god. Yuri just wants to hide under the table. 

It takes but a moment for Yuri to realize that  _he_ has the same silvery hair as the rest of the Nikiforov's, and the same wide smile to match.

_Oh._

"My guests, this is my son, Victor – he's just returned to us from many months of travelling. Victor, these are our honored guests, Her Majesty Hiroko, their daughter the Princess Mari, and Alina's betrothed, Yuri."

Victor bows respectively and smiles at each of them, but stops short at Yuri. His eyes dance.

"Yes, it is wonderful to meet you," Victor says, taking the seat next to Alina. He doesn't break the eye contact.

Yuri just  _knows_ his face is reddening, and wills it to stop. He prays no one else will notice, but of course Alina catches onto it straightaway. She looks at Yuri as if he's got three heads.

"Are you alright, Yuri?" Alina questions. Bless her heart, Yuri is so grateful that she cares -  but at this moment in time, he wishes that she would just  _stop._

It's too late. Everyone at the table is already staring at him, expecting an answer. And there's no doubt his face is  _still_ flushed, because he can feel it burning hot.

"I'm okay," He croaks, and this only makes Victor's smile wider. "I'm fine, it's a little  _warm_ in here," 

Alina continues to give him a side eye throughout the rest of breakfast when he doesn't participate in conversation. In truth, he's too afraid to look in her direction. Yuri refuses to look up from his plate. He can feel Victor staring at him.

After the staff clears their food, Yuri suddenly has nothing to distract him, and he panics. Not for long though, because his father stands to excuse himself, and asks that Yuri follow him. As much as Yuri wants to ignore the  _traitor,_ they haven't spoken since his outburst at dinner the night before – and Yuri needs to get out of Victor's line of sight before he says something completely idiotic. 

Yuri tries to keep his vision straight for the door as he follows his father out, but manages to catch Victor's eye as he passes. Of course. 

They walk in silence until they reach outside, where they go down the path near the back lawn. It's another beautiful day, just like yesterday. Bright, with birds singing somewhere in the trees.

"I cannot say that I am not disappointed in you, my son," Toshiya starts, in Japanese. Yuri is grateful to hear his mother tongue. He doesn't know how long it'll be before he hears it again. 

"Why is that, Father?"

"I made a mistake in thinking you could handle this situation with more grace. You've been petulant, like a child."

Yuri's hands shake. For some stupid reason, Yuri thought this conversation might be about the  _apology_ that Toshiya owes him, and how  _grateful_ he is that Yuri taking on this massive responsibility. He feels the kind of anger that's familiar to him now, and it comes out all at once. 

"I  _must have_  made a mistake as well, thinking my father would be anything but  _selfish,_ and care about anything but  _himself_."

This stops Toshiya. Yuri cannot believe he's just said that, but he holds his ground. Not in a bold way, he doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to.

"You must remember who you are speaking with. I did not raise you to show disrespect to your elders."

" _I didn't think you raised me just to sell me off to Russian strangers, yet_ ** _here we are."_**

Toshiya slaps him. 

Firm, open handed, across the face.

It startles Yuri so much, that he stumbles backwards, clutching his cheek.

For a moment, entire world has ceased movement. Paused. There's complete stillness as father and son stare one another down, and Yuri fights for breath. 

Then, Toshiya straightens his coat, and stands upright again. 

"I will be back," He lays out carefully, "In three months time. You had  _better_ remember who I am by then."

As he pivots to return to the palace, Yuri finds he still can't bring himself to move. His feet have permanently rooted themselves into the ground. 

He feels one tear slide down his cheek, before they all do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi hello! if you're reading this note, it means you got to the end of this chapter!!!! thank you thank you thank you for reading!!
> 
> this took a bit over a week to finish, because it was longer than I expected it to be - however I will try to be consistent with my uploading.
> 
> ALSO you don't already, and you'd like to, you can find me at hasetsuhotsprings on tumblr; that's where I spend most of my time
> 
> your comments/kudos make my heart a giant happy face, thanks for being cool xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VICTOR'S HOME

_Earlier That Day_

Victor has always been a traveler. Or wanted to be, at the very least.

Staying in one place had never been his forte. It was part of the reason the Nikiforov's even  _had_ a summer palace. 

Victor used to complain day and night about sitting at home all seasons, (which was ultimately quite bratty, considering they resided in a  _palace,)_ and rather than spending the money traveling to different countries - they bought various homes in those places.  Their summer home, although still in Russia, always made Victor feel like he was king of the world.  _Technically_ he's prince wherever he goes, but it's a figure of speech.

Most of the staff had been with them since Victor was 11, and they watched him grow into a young man. ( _Of all their staff at all their homes, he loved the summer home best. They were like family.)_

When Victor traveled, he tended to go a bit off the grid. He prefers it that way, and for the most part, his parents respected that. They learned quickly that it was in their best interest to not try and keep Victor tied down. 

Which was most likely why, at the age of 27, Victor remained unmarried.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, in Victor's opinion. Of course, his father would have some choice words to say about it, but none of that mattered to Victor. 

The first time his father and counselors attempted to speak to him about a "suitable woman," and his " _re_ _sponsibility_ _to produce an heir,_ " he was 20 years old. They took him into a room, and laid out women like horses for sale. Their backgrounds, nobility status, family medical histories. It made Victor's skin crawl. They spoke about scheduling appointments to meet with his top five choices the following week, to see about "compatibility."  

He sat in bed that night, heart thumping in his chest, hands trembling. He couldn't tell if it was the anger, or nervousness, or despair that was causing it. All he could do was think, think of his future ending, freedoms cut in half – he had to come up with a solution, anything to stop this process. So, he did what he thought was best.

He ran away to Italy for three months. 

Granted, it wasn't the most responsible thing to do, leaving without telling anyone where he was going. There was never really a plan, either. There was no time to breathe. Suddenly his bags had packed themselves and a plane ticket appeared in his hand. It all happened very quickly. 

The intention was never to make anyone worry over him. To avoid this, he sent various vague postcards from places he'd been. To let his father know he was alive and well, and also to infuriate him a bit. A  _"Wish you were here,"_ while in Rome, a  _"Thinking of you_ _,"_ from Milan, and the occasional, " _Be home soon."_

They didn’t try the conversation again until he was 23.

This time, Victor entertained the idea. Perhaps marrying wouldn't be so bad. The woman would be beautiful, undoubtedly. Intrigued Victor to imagine having a partner in crime, someone to share his world with. 

Though, he knew better than that. The sheer amount of work that would be put into the process of getting married – the thought gave Victor a migraine. 

The courtship in itself would be a year's worth of press, in the least.

Publicly meeting the family, (which would be of higher nobility, no doubt,) all the pre-determined outings and events they'd attend. Victor would have to look 100%, absolutely love-sick at all times. 

_Nauseating._

It's not the idea of marriage that irks Victor so much. Truly, it seems like a pleasant enough concept. 

It also doesn't help that Victor is gay.

 _Not_ being gay would make many concepts in Victor's life much easier, he thinks. He'd never change himself, even if it were something he could choose.

The subject never comes up in conversation. Even if for some odd reason he felt comfortable enough to tell anyone in his family, it wouldn't change a thing. 

Aleksandr is a smart man. Surely, he knows, or has a sneaking suspicion, though he'd never vocalize it. They share a common, unspoken agreement that they never will address it. 

It's fine by Victor. He knows who he is. One less excruciating conversation to sit through.

Maybe things would be different if he'd fallen in love. It would have given him something to fight for. 

But, he hasn't.

Not for lack of trying, either. Victor thinks he might have come close a few years ago, when he ran to Italy. 

He stopped in a quaint café during his third week in Florence for a nice, hot cappuccino – when an equally nice, hot waiter wouldn’t stop making eyes at him from across the room.

It was also nice and hot when Victor found himself pressed against a wall later that night.

His name was Alesso, and he possessed the dreamiest caramel eyes, a jawline that could cut through steel, and the thickest chocolate hair that he kept in a tie. He looked like the leading man on the cover of a cheap romance novel. (The hair may or may not have been Victor's favorite part.  _Excellent_ for pulling.) 

Time absolutely flew with Alesso. They'd spend nights staring at the navy sky from the roof of Alesso's building, and talk until the stars were replaced by the sun.

Thankfully, their language barrier wasn't too difficult. Alesso had been worked in a tourist-centric area of the city for most of his life, which shaped his English nicely.

Despite this, they didn't speak all that much. Most of their conversations consisted of...  _body language._

Alesso was a  _man_. At the age of 35, Victor knew that his mind must've been full of past experience. He can still recall how his hands shook the first time they slept together. It was Victor's first time for everything – his first kiss, even. Though he'd be damned if Alesso knew that.

He must've known anyhow. He sensed Victor's trembling, and laid soft kisses to both of his hands.

" _Respirare_ ," He whispered. It meant, " _Breathe."_

Victor did.

For a while, he thought that perhaps the rest of his life could be that way. Living in a villa with Alesso, sleeping in on Sunday's, drinking cappuccino. His hands running down Victor's bare back in the mornings. It was a heavenly picture to paint. 

Looking back, Victor was simply a love-struck 20-year-old. Everything was magic. Freed from the confines of his Father's expectations, running around a beautiful city with no one to watch him. Everything was going quite nicely, that is, until Victor decided it was time to mention that he was royalty. And on top of that, a runaway.

Victor had never seen fear the way he saw it in Alesso's eyes that day.

None of it had gone the way he'd planned. Alesso told Victor that he was a madman, and that he had no desire to be killed by a Russian mafia. That Victor was a selfish fool. There were other things that were said, but Alesso was so flustered that parts of his sentences would trail off in Italian.

Victor pleaded, tears streaking down his face in earnest – he told Alesso that he'd give everything up for him. They could move to the countryside, just the two of them, and be happy. So, so happy.

Alesso argued that sooner or later, his father would be done with the games and come looking.

Victor just begged. He didn't know what else to do. He begged for Alesso to get a night's rest, and think on it until the morning. Begrudgingly, Alesso climbed into bed with him. Victor could feel how rigid, how tense he was. 

In the morning when Victor woke, he was gone. 

To this day, Victor still isn't sure if what he felt for Alesso was because he knew it would anger his father, or if he genuinely fell in love. He wonders what his life would be if Alesso had taken him up on his offer to give up everything he'd known. Where he would be at this moment in time. 

It makes him sad, sometimes. When he lets himself think about it. Though Victor doesn't much remember the happy times, after so many years. 

He can only recall the pain. The heartache.

That was when he decided to return home.

~

Arriving at his summer palace tonight feels better than it usually does. Most of the time when Victor travels, it's to escape something. And returning is usually with his tail between his legs and a threat over his head. 

Going to Greece these past weeks was more about the giddiness he felt from the spontaneous travelling, and less about running away. 

Aleksandr and Irina kept minimal contact as per usual, but it did take Victor by surprise when they called to inform him of some important news. 

"She'll wed the Japanese prince," Aleksandr says, as if it's completely ordinary. 

"I'm sorry, Father - I must have poor connection," Victor laughs. "It's almost like you've said she's going to marry the  _Japanese_ prince."

"That is exactly what I said."

There's a pause. 

"The Japanese prince?"

"Yes, Victor, what about that is difficult to understand?"

"What of that would be  _easy_ to understand?"

"At least she'll agree to marry. That's more than I can say for you."

Another pause.

"I'm choosing to ignore that," Victor says. "Her willingness to marry still does not explain how the Japanese came into play."

"We make decisions to benefit our country, Victor. This is an alliance that will, in fact, benefit us greatly."

"That does not sit well with me."

"I didn't ask."

"Father,"

"Enough! We leave you be as you jet set around the world with  _zero_ responsibilities. We don't demand to know where you're going, or what you’re doing. You only want to participate when it is most convenient for you. It is not right of you to pick and choose when you care about this family."

"I  _always_  care about our family!" Victor sputters. 

"You have an interesting way of displaying that," Aleksandr retorts with a scoff. "If you decide that you'd like to come back home in a reasonable period of time, we'll be at the summer property. That's all I have to say."

"Always a pleasure speaking with you, Father." Victor rumbles. He doesn't get a response. Only a dial tone. 

There's about fifteen seconds of confusion for Victor. They're marrying off his younger sister? Why had his Father planned this in such a short amount of time, and in  _secret?_

It takes him five minutes to contact their family's pilot to get him on the next plane home. 

It takes him another thirty seconds for Victor to Google this Japanese prince. The first link is the one Victor clicks on, bringing him to an overall profile of the Prince.

 _Yuri_ _Katsuki_  is his name. The website says he was born Prince of Japan, born in Kōdai - he's twenty-three years old, and he's 5 feet, eight inches. Quite small, in Victor's opinion. There's a few pictures in the sidebar that go along with the descriptions. 

Victor could see how he'd be an attractive man, in  _theory_. Strong bone structure, thick, sweeping black hair – but he's not very photogenic. These pictures are actually awful. 

As he goes back in the search engine, links to blogs and news websites are listed.

Headline after headline reads, " ** _JAPANESE PRINCE TRIPS_** ** _AGAIN,"_** or, " ** _PRINCE YURI CUTS WRONG RIBBON AT CEREMONY._** ** _"_**  And the like. The boy is undeniably a klutz. Videos of him tripping through crowds of people, knocking drinks over at charity events - 

It seems fake, almost. A ploy for press. No child brought up in a royalty should lack such dignity and poise. It's nearly impossible. Even if you're not born with it, you're taught.

He spends the next hour of his flight reading up on the Japanese prince. Victor searches for anything intriguing about him, some hobbies or interests – but it seems this Yuri is devoid of all things interesting. No talents, no organizations or charities near to his heart, nothing. That in itself raises a red flag in Victor's mind.

Aleksandr did make it very clear that Victor was to have no say in the matter, though. He clenches his teeth a bit and focuses on the fact that he's not far from home. 

~

In Victor's mind, he never left.

One of the few reasons returning home was so wonderful was because little changes when he leaves. Coincidentally, it’s also the reason that he does  _leave_. 

Little changes when he's there, too. 

Although it's refreshing, tonight. Despite the fact that it's in the late hours of the night, Victor can still see the palace lit up exactly how he remembers it. It puts a jolt in his belly when he pictures all the years spent here as a child.

The staff welcomes him and takes his bags quietly, and places them in his room, offering tea. He declines politely, bending to give Daria a hug. (Hugging the staff was something that Irina strongly suggested against, but Victor didn't care.) Daria had been with his family since he was 8, and she always brought him cookies after his parents went to bed.

His room is all the same, right down to a book that he hadn't finished from two summers ago, that lays untouched on a nightstand in the corner of the room. Sure, the place may be covered in a nice layer of dust, but it makes Victor feel special in a weird, unreasonable way. No one enters this room when he's not here. It's his place. 

It's much too late for shower, he thinks. Instead, he shrugs out of his clothes, and gets in bed – naked. As per usual. 

The coolness of his sheets makes Victor actually sigh out loud. It is so, so good to be home. He picks up the forgotten book – genuinely curious of how it ends. 

He's just flipped open to his bookmark when the door to his room creaks open. He half expects it to be one of the staff but - 

Who else should enter, but the klutz prince himself?

It's comical, how long it takes for the boy to realize he's in the wrong place. At first, he just stands by the doorway, forehead to the frame. He takes long, shuddering breaths.

Victor just sets the book on his lap, slowly. He's not sure what would be funnier, if he spoke up, or not.

After a moment he does turn, and he meets Victor's eyes. There's a millisecond of his mind registering the situation. Then, his face contorts, and he looks to be on the verge of a heart attack.

"Hello there," Victor muses.

The speed at which he flies to the door is astounding. 

It takes all of the restraint Victor has not to laugh. He does crack a tiny smile as the prince fumbles blindly for the door handle, in an attempt to escape.

His eyes are wide and frantic as he mumbles some sort of completely incoherent apology, and it is more work not to chuckle.

"It's okay, honest mistake." Victor smiles, gentler this time. 

The prince is only there for a moment longer before he has a grip on the handle, and dashes out into the hallway. He slams the door loudly behind him, and Victor winces.

A moment passes, and Victor just settles further into bed. 

" _Welcome home, Victor."_ He thinks to himself, a sly grin spreading on his face that he can't seem to contain.

_~_

The sun is doing extra work that morning, streaming into Victor's curtains loudly. He tries to roll over and ignore it, but he takes it as the Universe's way of saying;  _"Hey you, it's time to be awake now!"_

He trudges to the bathroom and takes an extra-long, extra hot shower. He might fall asleep for a few minutes while there, but no one needs to know that. 

Victor makes quick work of getting dressed, and starts on the hunt for his father. Aleksandr is an early,  _early_  riser, and would no doubt be up and around by this time. 

One of the members of staff tells Victor that his father is in the east study, taking morning tea. 

It's strange when he hears two voices coming from underneath the door, and knocks three times before entering.

"Hello, Father." Victor says loudly,  _obnoxiously_ _,_ before he notices that the Emperor of Japan sits in his company. He recognizes the man from the light online-stalking Victor had done on his son only the night before. 

"Hello," He stutters a bit, but recovers quickly. "I apologize for the interruption," Victor bows to show his respect. "I did not know you had company."

"Victor!" Aleksandr springs to his feet. "What a marvelous surprise!" He gestures for Victor to sit, and begins to pour him a cup of tea.

"This is Toshiya Katsuki. He is the father to Alina's betrothed, Yuri."

Victor's still a tad uneasy at the sight of the Emperor, but reaches in to accept his handshake anyhow. "A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."

"And you."  

There's an uncomfortable pause, and the only sound in the room is a spoon clinking against Victor's cup as he stirs.

He looks between his father and Toshiya. "Was I interrupting something?"

"We were just talking about the arrangements of the wedding," Aleksandr waves off, "Boring matters,"

"They're not boring to me, I'd love to know the details," 

"Though your travels, Victor." Aleksandr presses, "Would be much more interesting a topic. Please, you must tell us about your travels."

A tightness in his voice tells Victor this is not a suggestion. "It was wonderful, as to be expected. Greece is lovely this time of year."

"You enjoy being away from your homeland for so many days?" Toshiya inquires.

"Weeks," Victor replies. "I've been away for a few weeks."

This elicits a blank stare. "How might one manage their responsibilities from a distance so great for weeks at a time?" 

"You don't," Victor says simply. 

Aleksandr laughs. "Ah, Victor, such  _laughs_ ," He rubs his hands together. "Victor always takes our councilor and advisor with him to help with matters while he's away."

"Ah," Toshiya's head tilts. "I see."

There's more tight conversation between them for an hour or so, until someone comes to let them know that breakfast had been served. Victor is overjoyed. He hates small talk, more than anything in the world. 

As they walk together to the dining hall, he notices that Aleksandr's and Toshiya's conversation has grown louder with laughter. Genuine. They like each other. 

This is no surprise to Victor on his father's behalf, his father clings to people like bubblegum. He quite thoroughly enjoys human interaction, meeting new people. Though upon first meeting, the Emperor did not seem like the friendliest of men. It seems foreign to see such a wide grin on Toshiya's face. Of course, if anyone were to bring a jollier side out of him, it would be Aleksandr. 

For as long as Victor could think back to, Aleksandr hosted parties and entertained guests in their various homes. It was rare that a weekend in the Nikiforov manor was quiet.

There was always a brunch in the morning, perhaps a charity event in the afternoon, a celebration in the evening. It really aided in shaping Victor's social skills, but he didn't much care for it. He never did. Too many opportunities to ask Victor when he was going to marry, how many children he planned to have. One of the inquiries that truly drove him up the wall always came from wayward second-cousins, or great-aunts he hadn't seen in ages, claiming, 

" _Oh Victor, we haven't seen you since you_ _were_ _a baby!_ _Don't you remember?!"_

No. He did  **not** remember.

Victor isn't a prickly person, he swears upon it. Somewhere along the path of small-talk and chitchat, he realized that life was much too short to pretend to care for the things that you don't care for. Simple as that. 

It's the reason Victor doesn't blink an eye when he's contemplating travelling somewhere new, or why he'll say yes to any one-night stand. It's a little gritty, he knows. But he's so hungry to see the whole world, and have a taste for as much of it as he can. 

"My guests, this is my son, Victor – he's just returned to us from many months of travelling. Victor, these are our honored guests, Her Majesty Hiroko, their daughter the Princess Mari, and Alina's betrothed, Yuri."   

It's an obnoxious introduction, but Victor bows nonetheless – a little excited that he gets to see his nighttime intruder again. 

Victor makes a small game of not making eye contact at first. 

"Yes, it is wonderful to meet you," He replies. He takes the seat next to his sister, diagonal from the prince. Victor can't help but grin when Yuri's face reddens, and fails to explain himself.

Victor notices how the prince totally and  _completely_ checks out during the meal. Keeping his head low, his responses short. His hair curls a bit at the front, covering his eyes – Victor finds himself wishing he could see more of his face. 

He looks between Alina and her new fiancé – the dynamic is comical. Victor wonders how much they know about each other. 

As breakfast is being cleared, the Emperor's smile wipes clean from his face as if someone slapped it off. He excuses himself, and takes the young prince with him.  

There's a bit of dead air as the young prince and his father leave in silence. The conversation has lulled.  _Clearly_ Victor has missed something.

Victor makes a quick scan of the remainder of the guests at the table. The Empress and her daughter, the princess, who sits with a back so straight he thinks it may be painful for her – and an Empress who looks completely ready to jump ship. Nervous eyes, and hands wringing on her lap. 

An odd pairing. 

They're speaking in hushed tones – and in Japanese, no less. It doesn't take a translation to figure out what they're talking about. The tension between the prince and the Emperor is tangible enough to grab hold of – Victor wonders where that stems from. 

"Perhaps I might take the ladies into the West Drawing Room for tea," Irina says, rising from her seat. She still hasn't said a word to Victor. "A few moments of relaxation before your long travels."

_Travels?_ _Leaving so soon?_

 The ladies straighten their skirts as they stand, but Victor takes hold of Alina before she can leave. 

"If I might, Mother. I'd like a few words with my sister. She will catch up."

Victor receives a tight nod from Irina in response, but nothing more. He doesn't  _expect_ anything more.

"You did not tell me you were coming home," Alina says. It's the first thing she's said to Victor since he arrived. 

"I never do." He replies. It's the truth.

"It would have been nice to know." She mumbles.

"Why? To give me forewarning as to what I was coming home to?" Victor snaps. "I leave for a few weeks and now you're  _engaged_ _?_  It seems to me that the world continues to turn even when I am away."

She won't meet his eyes.

"I have no choice in what Father tells me to do, you of all people should understand." 

"Does he control your methods of communication as well? When they first suggested such an idea, you didn't think to call me?" Victor lowers his voice and reaches for her hand. "I could have gotten you out of this."

Alina turns her gaze sharply. "Gotten me out? To do what? Run away to somewhere far, and escape my duties, like you?" 

" _Of course!_ Don’t you see? This is  _madness!_  Your duties are to  _yourself._ No one can make you do what you do not want. You must show them that you control your life."

Alina pulls her hand from his grip. "We can't all run away from our responsibilities, Victor. We can’t all be you." 

"Do not turn this around on me. I didn't do this to you." 

"But you did," Alina says through gritted teeth. "This  _whole_ process has been expedited because of you. They're afraid I'll run away too."

"They're not. They would never think that of you."

"They never thought it of you," She responds, quiet. 

Victor takes a moment, and examines his baby sister. She stares back, gaze unfaltering. He wonders when she grew up, and how he failed to notice.

"Alina, it is not too late. We can change this somehow." 

"The fact that you think that shows me you have not changed, and you still do not understand. I don't want to escape it. This is my life, and I need to take hold of my responsibilities."

She turns on her heel, but stops before she reaches the door. She looks back with sad eyes. "I love you Vitya, but you should do the same."

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I can't actually BELIEVE it's the end of november already, I'm so incredibly sorry that it's taken me so long to post this chapter - I already have half of the next one finished already, I SWEAR! 
> 
> for those of you who are celebrating the holiday, have a happy one! for those of you who aren't, have a great rest of your week :)
> 
> thank you thank you thank you for reading this, as always, every comment and kudos puts a happy face on my heart. ya'll rock. 
> 
> xxxxx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when will yuri stop crying

It's embarrassing how long Yuri has been pouting. 

Pouting isn't really the best word for it, but Yuri knows it's exactly what he's doing. The tears have stopped, at least. He's thankful for that. He was worried that they never would. He supposed that  _is_ what happens when you repress every emotion you've felt for the last two months. It's an open floodgate with no end in sight. He can't tell if it's been an hour, or two, or three. 

There's a cement bench that he's made a temporary home on, and he doesn't plan on moving any time soon. Not if he doesn’t have to. At the moment, he's really just trying to hold off returning to the palace until he knows his father has gone. There's no use for goodbyes. Yuri knows he's said everything he could possibly say, nothing will change. 

He hates that he can't hide. At home, there were many rooms in the palace Yuri knew he could escape to when his father was being particularly horrendous. Sometimes if he wore a hat, and some sunglasses, he could even go to a café in the city and blend. Here, Yuri barely knows how to navigate himself to his own  _room,_ let alone a place where he can feel safe. 

The thought occurs to him that he may feel like a guest in the Nikiforov household forever. 

Yuri hadn't asked when their departure was, but he  _knows_ Toshiya remains on the grounds. He can sense it. The feeling settles like tar at the pit of his stomach. It's absolutely petty, but he can't face his father again after he struck him like a  _child._ He's never felt the hot sear of embarrassment like he had in that moment.

That's the sum of his life, Yuri thinks. Being an embarrassment. To himself, to his family, to his  _country._  

Then the tears are back. The sting behind his eyes. Throat closing up. 

Burying his head in his hands, he focuses on slowing his breathing - thinking about sunshine and fresh flowers, or a bubbling brook, or  _anything_ that seems peaceful. It's all he wants, really. Peace.

Yuri's head shoots up at the sound of footsteps, certain that his father has come back for one last round of insults before he leaves – but his stomach falls to the floor when he sees the Nikiforov prince approaching him instead. 

Yuri is on his feet immediately, praying it's not too obvious when he swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. 

"Your Highness,"

The prince just chuckles. He takes his hands from his pockets to raise them in mock-surrender.

"There's no need for that, my friend. After all, we're much closer than expected after your visit last night."

 Yuri feels the blush creeping up his neck. It's threatening to set his face ablaze. 

"I do not know how I can ever apologize enough for such an  _intrusion,_  but I assure you it'll never happen agai-"

"It truly was not a bother," He laughs. Yuri still wants to set himself on fire. "If you had caught me thirty seconds earlier it may have been a bit awkward, but you did not. Do not worry yourself over it." 

Yuri doesn't know what to say to that. He stands, shifting between two feet, racking his brain for something more to say. Of course, his mouth is cotton and empty. 

"Please, do not stand on my occasion," He gestures for Yuri to sit beside him. 

Yuri is as stiff as a board as he lowers himself to the bench, ever aware of the prince's relaxation. Something about all the Nikiforov's – they seemed infinitely unbothered by their surroundings at all times, while maintaining the grace and posture of royalty. Yuri is envious. Also, palms are sweaty. 

"Were you out enjoying the weather?" 

"Yes, it-it is beautiful." 

"Though to enjoy it alone?"

Yuri brushes a hand across his forehead. The sunshine was pleasant at first, but now he can feel the heat getting to him, sticking hair to the back of his neck with sweat. The prince wears a deep navy suit, with a plain white collared shirt underneath, but he doesn't look a bit uncomfortable. Figures.

"Looking for an escape," Yuri replies, before he can think better of it. 

The prince raises an eyebrow. "An escape, already? It's to my understanding that you arrived  _yesterday._  Is my family that insufferable?" 

"No,  _no,"_ Yuri chokes. "Of course not, I never meant it that way, Your Highness -"

"Victor."

"I'm sorry?"

"Victor," he says simply. "We're to be brothers, I think that gives reason enough for you to call me by my first name."

"Of course, right. Victor." 

"You are Yuri,"

"Yes, that's right." 

_A beat._

"Tell me about your need to escape. Does it have anything to do with my sister?"

Yuri shakes his head. "Your sister is one of the loveliest people I've ever met. I can't imagine anyone wanting to escape her."

"I agree. Not my sister, then."

"No."

Victor looks pensive. Yuri glances at him from the corner of his vision, watching as a breeze kicks through silver strands on his forehead. 

"Are you going to make me pry?"

"My family life is... not quite what I'd like it to be. Family is difficult."

Victor chuckles. "Don't I know it."

"You never want to let anyone down, and sometimes you feel like that is  _all_ you do, and well – not you, obviously, but me – and I despise feeling like a giant disappointment."

Victor hums in agreement. 

"I would like to be unselfish. I would like to be like my sister. Ready for anything." Yuri pauses, feeling the heat rise in his chest.  _Oh, p_ _lease, Yuri,_ don't cry in front of the prince.  _Please, please,_ _please_ _._  "But - I also do not want to feel guilty for wanting to live my own life," He adds quietly.  

"I would say that is a reasonable request." 

"Would you? You'd be the only one."

"You may not believe it, but I know a thing or two about troubles with family," Victor says, almost to himself. "It will pass. Like all things, it will pass."

Yuri just sighs. "I fear that if I sit back, my  _life_ will pass as well. Right before my eyes. Everything I've ever wanted to do, or see, vanished. I am going to vanish along with it."

"You'll drown in a mindset like that, Yuri."

"I feel I already am," He chokes, unable to repress it any longer. Tears spill again. Yuri doesn't bother trying to hide it, and his mortification reigns supreme. 

"Oh," Victor looks surprised. Panicked, even. "I did not mean to upset you,"

"You didn't do anything," Yuri laughs, and watches as Victor digs deep in his pocket and pulls out an embroidered handkerchief. He hands it to Yuri with a smile. Yuri accepts, blowing his nose unceremoniously, loudly. 

Yuri moves to return it, but after second thought, shyly pushes it in his pocket. "I'll... have to return this to you." He says, face red. 

"Don't worry, I have plenty more. Keep it." 

Yuri nods, but keeps his focus to the dirt. Shifts it around a bit with the toe of his shoe. Victor clears his throat. 

"If you could go anywhere, right at this moment, where would it be?"

Yuri shrugs. "I hadn’t thought about it. It will never be an option for me, so why torture myself with fantasies?"

"That's quite boring."

Yuri scoffs. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, that is quite boring," Victor says, stretching his legs out in the grass. They're long. "You don't even let yourself dream?"

Yuri shrugs. "What's the point?"

Victor laughs, heartily. "Oh, goodness. What's the point in  _dreaming?"_

"Yes." 

"Yuri, there is much to be seen. Many experiences to be had. You must find your lust for life."

"That's much easier said than done."

There's a stillness in the air, and Yuri feels his heart slowing. He lets himself breathe a little. 

"I can't offer you means of escape," Victor says after a moment of silence, "But I do have somewhere you can run to if you need it."

~

"This is my study," Victor announces, pushing double doors open to welcome a large room. An entire wall is covered in books, a ladder reaching up to the ceiling to get to the highest ones. In the center of the room lies is a giant board, with a large map of the world. Yuri doesn't go past the doorway.

Victor strides over to a large mahogany desk, reaching to switch a lamp on. He brushes a hand over the surface and swipes a thick layer of dust into the air. 

"I will confess, it's been a good amount of time since I've been in here," Victor chuckles. "As you can see, it has been a while since  _anyone_ has been in here."

"It's... lovely," Yuri says carefully, noting the juvenile drawings that litter the walls and floors, and various children's books that sit on the shelves. 

Victor scoffs. "Hardly," He sets off to rip open what looks to be a heavy pair of velvet drapes, the same blood red as the Nikiforov banners. Golden sunlight comes flooding in, and Yuri squints his eyes a bit at the sudden change. The new light makes the room look much bigger. 

"My father allowed me to do whatever I pleased to this room. I even chose its location. It is the furthest away from all the rooms and studies, and it's on the first level. You could climb right out the window to the ground. My father despises everything about it."

Yuri steps further into the room, examining the way the navy-blue rug clashes with the color of his desk, and drapes. Everything clashes, really. It does in fact look like a ten-year old designed it. 

On the wall to the right of his desk is a large painting of a young Victor and Aleksandr, his father's hands on his shoulders. It is strange for Yuri to see Aleksandr's mouth set in a grim, straight line as opposed to the wide grin he usually wears. 

"Pay no attention to that," Victor waves once he notices Yuri's staring. "It's horribly gaudy, but my father insisted. Making an eleven-year old boy sit still for that period of time should be a crime."

Yuri laughs lightly, but doesn't do much else. 

"My sister had the choice for a room of her own as well," Victor continues, "But optioned out to have a space remodeled as a dance studio. Her ballet, that is her art. Those are her studies." 

"What were your studies?" Yuri asks.

"Getting into trouble," Victor counters with a grin. 

Yuri nods, inching further in, closer to the board with the giant world map. There are bright green circles around several countries, and smaller blue arrows pointed towards a number of cities.

"What are these?" Yuri asks over his shoulder. 

"Ah," Victor replies, a smile spreading across his face. "This was the list of places I wanted to visit as a child."

"Which of them have you managed to see?"

Victor picks up a small jar from his desk that contains a plethora of small red pushpins. He makes his way over to Yuri, glancing sideways at the board. Wordlessly, he places a tiny red pin in each of the green circles, and on all of the cities with blue arrows. 

"You've been to them all?" Yuri asks, dumbfounded.

"And then some." Victor grins. 

"Wow," Yuri breathes, "If only."

Victor glances between the board, then to Yuri, and back to the board again. He returns to the desk, plucks a purple pen from a cup, and hands it to Yuri.

"Here," Victor says. "Make a list of your own.  _Dream_ a little." 

"I couldn't possibly." Yuri responds, pushing the pen back. "This is your private space."

"Nonsense," Victor laughs. He takes Yuri's hand, and Yuri is too taken aback to have a normal response. Victor closes the pen around his hand. "Go ahead."

Yuri grasps the pen carefully. He looks back to Victor once more, who only nods him on with a smile. He makes his first small circle in Africa. 

"Africa?" Victor asks, curiosity clear. 

"Egypt." Yuri says simply. "The Great Pyramids." He places another on France. 

"Eiffel Tower? Versailles?" 

"Disneyland," Yuri blurts out.  _Why_ _would he_ _say_ _that? Stupid._ "Although yes, I'd love to see those things too."

Victor just laughs. He watches as Yuri places a few circles, then a few  _more,_ until it seems like the entire board is covered in purple circles. San Fransisco. India. Mexico. London. Seattle. Florence. ( _Victor_ _chuckles_ _to himself a bit when he circles_ _that, though Yuri doesn't_ _understand why,_ _)_ New York City. Ontario. Istanbul. The more Yuri thought about it, the more he wanted to see. After about ten minutes, he stands back.  Yuri does feel a  _tad_ guilty for drawing all over the board, but Victor doesn't look bothered in the slightest.

"That's quite the list." He says after a moment. 

"I suppose it is," Yuri replies. 

Victor claps a hand on Yuri's back. "It is a great start."

Yuri smiles. He feels a little lighter. "I think so too." 

There's a knock at the door. "Might I interrupt?"

Alina stands in the doorway. She's changed again, this time to a deep purple pantsuit.  "I am surprised to find you here, brother,"

Victor straightens. Yuri looks between the two of them, and the air is suddenly tense. Had Yuri missed something?

"Is there something I can do for you?"

Alina responds to him in Russian, and it's suddenly clear that Yuri is not meant to be present. This is also the first time he's seen Alina's face twisted down into the half-frown she's sporting right now. 

Victor fires back, and though Yuri doesn't speak the language, he can tell it's not an exchange of pleasantries. He fiddles with some of the things on Victor's desk and pretends he doesn't exist. 

They spout back and forth for another forty-five seconds before Victor throws his hands in the air and laughs exasperatedly. 

Yuri makes a noise that causes both of the Nikiforov's to turn their heads. 

"Would you maybe prefer that I... stepped _out_?" He asks cautiously, and their frowns fade instantly. It's almost robotic, the way both their demeanors snap back to normal.  

" _No_ , we didn't mean to be rude-" 

"That was  _incredibly rude of us_ , we apologize-"

Yuri watches as the siblings regain their posture and smile at each other as if they hadn't just been arguing. He feels as though he's on another planet. 

"Perhaps, Yuri, you'd like to take tea with me before our guests arrive? I am afraid you missed lunch, though we can have something made for you if you are hungry."

"Guests?" Yuri asks.

"Yes," Victor rolls his eyes. "The Lord Plisetsky and his pretentious family arrive tonight. " 

" _Vitya_ _,"_ Alina hisses.

 "What? You know it is true. You should be thankful that you no longer have to marry the little squirrel." 

Yuri freezes. His heart leaps in his chest. "Y-you – What?"

"I imagine their coming unannounced is to settle their dispute with our father," Victor shrugs. "You've essentially robbed them of a title, which I am sure they are not too pleased about."

Victor chuckles at his comment, but stops short when he sees the absolute terror etched across Yuri's face. 

"Yuri, what is the matter?"

He's not sure which of the million questions he should ask first. He looks to Alina. "You – you were engaged to be married?" 

"Not truly," Alina says gingerly. She looks tired. "The Plisetsky's have been in support of the crown for many generations, and there was talk for quite a number of years of joining our families officially."

"Fortunately, the Nikiforov's have a strong line for boys," chimes Victor. "As do the Plisetsky's. Alina is the first girl to be born to us, and to be considered for such a travesty." 

Alina's eyes shoot daggers. "It would not be a  _travesty_ , Victor. It would be an honor to join our houses."

Victor rolls his eyes. "You sound like father."

 He plops into the stiff leather armchair behind his desk, so big that it makes even Victor look small. 

 "You are just lucky that they've not had a daughter to match you up with," Alina fires back. Victor only laughs. 

"Of all the times they attempted to force me to marry, Father would have known better than to try that." 

Yuri's heart is still thumping. Or maybe it  _isn't_. He could be having a heart attack. Perhaps it's a full-on stroke.

"How –  _how did you_  – I mean, was there any – I am confused."

"You're wondering why it did not go through," Victor says. Yuri nods tightly. 

"In addition to being a pompous squirrel, the boy is just that: a boy. He's merely seventeen, much too young to be married to my lovely sister,"

"Oh." Is all Yuri manages. Of course, it couldn’t be simple. This already overly complicated situation made even  _more_ so now that Yuri is now apparently the thief of a bride.  

"It is funny, his name is also Yuri," Victor laughs. "Isn’t that quite the coincidence."  Yuri tries to laugh along with him, but it comes out more like a choking sound. He covers it with a cough. 

"I would not be concerned," Alina says. "There were no binding words to this arrangement."

" _Binding words?"_ Yuri asks. "What are considered binding words? Your family had been speaking on this for years! That seems fairly binding to me."

"Well, yes, but Yuri had  _always_ been so many years younger than me, so our fathers promised that if I was still unmarried by the time he came of age..."

"Alina would sign her life away to the squirrel." 

" _Victor_!"

"I apologize,  _Lord_ Squirrel."

Alina sighs, explosively. "Aside from the uncouth remarks, that is essentially the truth." 

Yuri wrings his hands. "I stole a bride  _and_ a title from a young Russian lord who'd been promised these things since he was a child. This presents itself to me as a problem," he says. "Should I not view this as a problem?"

Victor and Alina glance at each other.

"No," They say together.

~

It's three hours later when Yuri is stood back in front of the mirror in his bathroom, comb in hand. He looks and feels like an absolute zombie. Splashing cold water on his face had done nothing to make the bags under his eyes lessen, and neither had the moisturizing eye cream that he felt silly using. 

It took a while for his hands to stop trembling after he learned the news of Alina's former engagement. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He definitely couldn't bring himself to eat now. Missing lunch to avoid his family was not the best decision for his nerves. 

Yuri doesn't want to think about them right now. 

As though by a universal cue, his phone buzzes to life on the marble countertop. A text message. 

**_FROM: MARI_ **

**私はさよならを言うことができなかったことを謝罪します。私はあなたが恋しい**

**I apologize that I could not say goodbye. I miss you already**

Yuri wants to reply, he really does. He types out six different replies before ultimately deciding to set his phone down and let it go. Let it all go. 

He's tired. Emotionally frail. Any little thing could make him burst into tears at this point, if he had any left to give. It's over. His family has left him alone, with a map for the future. 

There's no reason to cry anymore.

~

   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again you lovely humans!
> 
> here is another chapter for you - I hope you loved it. these characters are growing roots in my heart and I hope they are in yours too.
> 
> as always, your comments/kudos truly make my day. i appreciate you! 
> 
> (p.s in whatever it is you celebrate: may it be a good one. happy holidays! see you in the new year :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, thank you thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope you enjoyed, this is something I've been working on for a minute now - the next chapter should be up within the next week or so!


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